


Five Times Trish said I love you (and one time Jessica did)

by Jinxgirl



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxgirl/pseuds/Jinxgirl
Summary: Over the years.





	1. Diet pills

Five Times Trish said I love you (and one time Jessica did)

1\. Diet pills

"What the hell are these, Trish?"

Jessica's voice was not loud, nor was it angry or forceful in tone, but there was a low intensity to it that demanded answers- truthful ones. Her lips pressed into a firm line, she watched the girl that the world now regarded as her adoptive sister with narrowed dark eyes.

Trish bit her overly lipsticked lips, her eyes shifting to the side, avoiding meeting the taller girl's. Although she was not wearing her notoriously itchy red wig, she reached up with unconscious habit to scratch at her scalp. She was known to most of the world not as the adoptive sister of nobody Jessica Jones, but rather as beloved teenaged actress and superstar Patsy Walker. But whatever mediocre acting talents she might possess, she had never been able fool Jessica in her efforts at lies.

Shifting her weight again, she reached out to take hold of the wooden post of the kitchen chair beside her, seeming to need its solid weight under her hand to steady herself before she could respond to the other girl.

"What's what?" Trish tried, going for the option of feigned ignorance of the prescription bottle cupped in Jessica's hand. "If you've got something, Jess, you better be quiet about it, Mom might be home any minute."

Jessica had neither the time nor the patience for this kind of answer. She had never been the kind of girl for subtlety and tact, and being fifteen and enduring the hell she had gone through in the past year had shortened her patience for bullshit that much further. Within a few short months, Jessica had survived a serious accident that killed both her parents and her brother, developed confusing and sometimes scary abilities of supernatural strength, and been adopted by the bitchy and outright abusive stage mother of the most famous teenager in America not out of compassion, but purely as a publicity move. Naturally, this had created some trust and abandonment issues, and having the one person in her life she sort of trusted attempt to snow her did nothing but push her closer to another of her newfound issues- anger that was sometimes far too close to the surface and far too dangerous to really let take over.

"First off, your mother won't be back any time soon, she never is when she's meeting up with some asshole she thinks wants to eye fuck you enough to put you in his movie. And as for these, what's WHAT are the fucking white, oblong objects in a fucking prescription bottle I'm holding right here, at eye level, in my hand," Jessica said slowly and distinctly, rattling the bottle for added sound effects and emphasis. "Also known as pills. Pills that don't actually happen to have a label on the bottle. What the hell are these, and what are they doing in your sock drawer?"

"You were borrowing my socks again?" Trish's chin jerked up, her narrow shoulders drawing up as she attempted to inject outrage into her voice. It didn't work; Jessica could see the apprehension in her eyes, the way her face didn't quite match up with her voice. "What the hell, Jess, do your damn laundry for a change instead of mooching off my shit!"

"I wear my own socks and your mom makes bitchy comments about them having holes at the toes or asks me if they were having a sale at the dollar store. I don't wear socks, and you complain my feet stink," Jessica muttered, rolling her eyes. "How the hell am I supposed to win against the two of you and your obsession with the state of feet?"

Realizing she had momentarily allowed Trish to distract her from her intended confrontation, she stiffened, hardening her tone and expression.

"Not the point, Trish. You know damn well what these are, don't do the denial thing. That's your mother's job."

She knew it was a low blow from the way Trish's eyes widened, hurt actually visibly shrinking her posture. Any comparison of her mother to herself was pretty cruel, but at least she'd gotten her attention. Uncomfortable and somewhat guilty even so, Jessica shifted her weight, her voice dropping slightly as she continued.

"What are these, Trish? Where did you get them, and how many have you taken already?"

Trish's lower lip sucked in between her teeth again, and she bit down, turning her face partly out of Jessica's view. She hunched her shoulders, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder as though in defiance, but her effort at making her voice match the gesture was unsuccessful, her words shaking audibly.

"They're…I didn't get them from anyone, okay, Jessica? And they're not DRUGS. They're just…like, pills. Like…for health."

"Look, I believe in miracles and all," Jessica deadpanned.

As a visual aid, she reached out for the closet object, which just happened to be the back post of chair that Trish was still holding onto, and broke it off with a single grasp of her hand, leaving it detached from the chair in Trish's fist. Nodding towards the now broken chair, Jessica continued, "I'm living proof of that shit. But I don't believe in the kind of miracle of little white pills appearing in your room, bottle and all, without anyone or anything putting them there or giving them to you to put there. And your mother has you on every exercise program and physical therapist and masseuse and nutritionist and dermatologist and whatever the hell else possible, don't give me that about those being pills you need for health, especially when they don't actually have a name or label on them. Those are drugs, Trish."

"They aren't drugs!" Trish snapped, her voice rising as her chin jerked up defiantly. She looked very different then from the manically grinning Patsy she played on TV, the submissive daughter she played for her mother- she looked like the rebellious teenager that she should have been all along. "They're just diet pills, okay, they're not DRUGS!"

A long, heavy silence stretched between the girls. Jessica saw Trish's cheeks twitch, her eyes shift down to the floor, and she knew that she was struggling not to cry. Her stomach heavy, her anger hot but controlled in her chest, Jessica breathed out, forcing her hands to relax at her sides when all she wanted then was to lash out at anything that could break.

"Your mother gave them to you, didn't she?" she said finally, her words quiet. "She told you to take them. And you have, haven't you? You've already taken some."

Trish didn't answer out loud, but Jessica saw the faint, shamed incline of her head into a nod, and she saw the first two tears slip down her cheeks.

"She'll know if I don't, Jessica, you don't get it," Trish whispered, two more tears joining the first. "I know she can't make me throw up if I don't let her, I know you said you wouldn't let her, I know you said she can't do anything. But you're not always there, Jessica, you don't always hear what she says or see how she looks at me or grabs the fat on my stomach-"

"What fucking fat, Trish?" Jessica burst out with, needing to vent her anger then at someone, even if it wasn't Trish she was so furious with at all. "You're a fucking size one, what the hell does she want to do, have you play Patsy's skeleton? Is Halloween coming faster than usual this year? Tell her to fuck off! Tell me and I'll tell her where she can fuck off to!"

"You don't understand, Jess," Trish sniffled, wiping at her face, but with each effort to stop her crying, more tears came. "I know I can tell her to stop it, I know I can tell you, but…but sometimes…sometimes I just think, what if she's right? What if I really am ugly, what if I really am fat, what if all she's doing is looking out for me? What if she's just doing what she has to do so I keep my job?"

Jessica stared at Trish, at a loss as to how to respond. Trish was still only fourteen, and most who looked at her would see only Patsy, the girl who had been famous before she hardly knew what famous was, the girl who was seen as having more privilege or fame than any other child her age. Trish had been to so many places most girls her age would never go, had met so many people, but she was still, in some ways, more innocent and vulnerable than Jessica could ever remember being herself.

She had promised Trish once that she would not protect her. She had never been able to keep that promise. How could she, when she saw the hurting look in her eyes?

"She's wrong," Jessica told her, forcing back all the bitter, vicious words against Dorothy Walker that were battling to come forward out of her mouth. "She's wrong, Trish. Your mother is wrong. Your mother is wrong, and crazy, and selfish, and jealous of you for being younger and smarter and way more hot than she ever was or ever will be, even when you're still jailbait and barely fill a training bra."

"Hey! I do not wear a training bra-" Trish started, indignant, but Jessica waved this off, steering her back to the part that was actually important, the part she was determined to drive through Trish's head.

"She's wrong, and you can't for one second let her brainwash you into thinking she isn't. Anyone with working eyes can see she's wrong, Trish, and I know you have mirrors." She paused, rolling her eyes, and shrugged one shoulder, her lips quirking up into a half smile.

"Why do you think all the producers picked you over everyone else for that stupid show of yours, anyway? It wasn't because you're such an awesome actress, believe me. It's because you're fucking beautiful, Trish."

Trish was still silent, not really answering her, and her eyes were still damp with unshed tears. She took several breaths, seeming to be thinking through what Jessica had said, and her lips quivered into an uncertain smile. Jessica hesitated, her discomfort at the girl's emotion creasing her forehead. She knew that she was probably supposed to say something else, do something to show comfort or support, but one thing she had never been great with was the emotional things, even before it had become necessary to block out as much emotion and personal connection from her life as was possible.

Still, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she was supposed to be doing something, anything for Trish, so she reached out a hand awkwardly, resting it on Trish's shoulder, and gave it a light pat. That was all it took for Trish's arms to come forward, pulling her against her tightly into a hug that seemed to wrap almost every part of the girl around Jessica's frame.

Jessica froze, her arms locked down at her sides by Trish's grasp. She couldn't have moved even if she wanted to. Hugging was not something she did, not anymore, and the confusion and anxiety that pressed against her chest made her lose all words. She endured the hug in silence, very much aware of the smell of Trish's hair against her cheek, the feeling of her body close to her own.

How long had it been since anyone had touched her like this? How long had it been since she would have even thought of letting them?

"Thank you, Jess," Trish whispered, her voice still cracked, but not as broken as before. Her face was pressed into Jessica's shoulder, uncomfortably close to the bare skin of her neck. "You're the only one who really cares."

"Oh, shut up," Jessica managed, her voice strained even to her own ears. "You have a billion fans who would go berserk to get to spend five seconds with you."

"No," Trish said more firmly, lifting up her head and looking into Jessica's face with a final sniff. "That doesn't count. You're the only one who REALLY cares. The only one who's there, the one that actually knows me, and still gives a damn."

She hesitated, biting her lip again, before saying quietly, "I love you, Jess. For being that for me."

Jessica felt the words hit her like a blow, straight in the heart. She almost doubled over from the emotional impact of it, hearing the words no one but her parents had ever spoken- the words she had thought she would never hear again.

The words she hadn't wanted to hear again. Because if she did- if someone loved her- how long would it be before they too were gone?

"Shut up," she said roughly, the words coming out before she could stop them. "Just….just shut up. Get yourself together, I don't have time for this."

She brushed past Trish hurriedly, head down, making her way with long strides down the hallway to her own room. She didn't look back to see the hurt on the other girl's face, nor to hear any protests or calls she might make to her. It wasn't until she was safe in her room, door closed and locked, that she realized the bottle of pills in her hand had been crushed into her fist, remnants of pill nothing but powder in her hand, the plastic of the bottle cutting into her palm.


	2. Rehab

Rehab

"Jessica?"

Jessica jerked awake, nearly falling out of the hard plastic chair she had been slumped back against in a fitful effort of sleep. Her eyes squinting against the bright overhead lights and glowing white walls of the hospital room, she turned her head towards the person rasping out her name, swallowing back a reflexive yawn and stretching out her arms before answering in a tired murmur.

"Rejoining the land of the living, then?"

Trish frowned back at her, not seeming to understand what she was saying. That was pretty likely; she had been unconscious, and between the massive overdose she had taken and the brutal nature of her recent stomach pumping, Jessica wouldn't be surprised if she didn't remember what had happened or even know where she was.

Standing slowly, ignoring the loud popping of her vertebrae after hours of sitting, Jessica took a slow step towards her, eyes narrowed as she observed her. Trish looked very small and pale in her large hospital bed, swallowed up by the big white mattress, the steel bars at its sides, and the IV dripping fluids into her arm. But her appearance was greatly improved from just four hours before, when Jessica had found her motionless and unconscious on the bathroom floor, looking much closer to dead than alive. For some time, death hadn't looked like a far-fetched outcome for Trish, and Jessica was still not quite recovered from the shock of the possibility.

"You're in the hospital," she told Trish flatly now, making no move to touch her. "You overdosed. They took care of it. You're going to be all right."

She paused, the anger in her voice not quite covering her hurt.

"Are you sorry I found you?"

Trish's brow creased with confusion, and she blinked, not seeming at first to understand Jessica's question. Then clarity washed over her eyes, and she started to shake her head adamantly, then flinched, seeming pained by the movement. Her voice was still weak and hoarse as she answered.

"What? No, Jess, no, of course I'm not. I wasn't trying to…I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"Well, you almost did," Jessica pointed out, her voice rising. "You weren't breathing, Trish. You were getting cold, and your heart almost stopped. For someone who wasn't trying to die, you did a good fucking job of playing the part of someone who was."

She swallowed hard, hating the sudden lump rising in her throat, and blinked twice, startled by the emotion she was still feeling. Looking at Trish now, defenseless and weak, but alive, conscious, talking, it was still so hard to force back the images in her mind of only hours before. It was hard to forget the feeling of terror pulsing through her veins, the way her voice had been unrecognizable to her to when she called 911. It was impossible to stop thinking of how small and cold Trish's hand had been in hers, how she had prayed to a God she had never really believed in, just for the hope that something would save her, something would protect her after all, where Jessica had failed.

"Where's Dorothy?" Trish asked, breaking Jessica out of her own dark thoughts. She had stopped referring to her mother as Mom in the past several months, a decision Jessica could understand and approve of, given how Dorothy Walker's mothering skills were far more abusive than nurturing in nature.

"She doesn't know you're here yet," Jessica told her, shrugging, a faint smirk quirking her lips. "She's still out, and me, I'm just a kid and conveniently too shocked at the traumatic side of your stupid ass on the floor to remember her cell number. I think that the hospital could probably figure out how to reach her if they really wanted to, but I'm pretty sure they also remember her from when I was here last year. So that probably tends to influence the decision to leave her out of the loop for a while."

She crossed her arms, her smirk almost becoming a smile. "They're probably looking at a pretty big lawsuit soon, but I doubt you give a shit, and I know you don't want her here."

"No," Trish said quietly, her lips twitching into a brief, faint smile. "No, I don't."

There was silence between them for a few more moments, and then she squinted up at Jessica, seeming to have had a new thought occur to her.

"They let you in here though…you're not sixteen, and you're not with an adult…."

"I'm close enough to sixteen to be able to lie about it," Jessica shrugged. "And I wouldn't have let them stop me. Trust me."

Her lips pressed together hard as she breathed in, then out, trying to find the right words to say what had to be said. But Jessica had never been a smooth talker, and she couldn't summon up the effort then to try. All she could say was what she thought- what she felt- and even that felt nearly impossible.

"Trish…Trish, you've got to stop this. The drugs, the secrets…everything. All the shit you're doing to yourself…it's got to stop."

Trish let out an audible, shaking breath, her features scrunching up in an effort to hold back the emotions so stark and clearly visible in her eyes. Even with her attempts, a single tear escaped, and her shoulders tensed and then relaxed with another shuddering breath.

"I know," she whispered, her words barely audible as she closed her eyes. "I know."

Jessica shifted her weight, uncrossing, then recrossing her arms. Her usually pale skin flushed, and she swallowed noisily, again finding no words to smooth over her feelings, none except the ones running plain and clear through her thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she said abruptly, the words sounding more angry in tone than apologetic, and Trish's eyes opened, her head turning to look at her more intently than before.

"For what, Jess? What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Because I let you down," Jessica burst out with, her voice louder than she intended, the anger in it directed not at Trish so much as at herself. She started to shake her head, one fist opening and closing around her own arm with some force as she continued. "I wasn't there, I didn't see how bad you were, I didn't fucking stop you. I didn't look out for you like I should have." She took another sharp breath, startled and ashamed of the tears now burning the back of her eyes, tears she didn't let herself release. "I didn't protect you, Trish. So I'm sorry."

When she felt a gentle but firm touch on her arm, her head jerked up, and she blinked, looking at Trish, sitting up in her bed, with barely reigned in guilt in her gaze. Trish kept hold of her arm, squeezing, as her blue eyes blazed with more ferocity towards Jessica than Jessica had ever seen her direct at anyone else.

"Shut up," she told her, shaking her head, and the hoarseness of her voice didn't decrease from its intensity. "Stop it, Jessica Jones, just stop it. You didn't let me down, don't you get that? Not everything is about you, whether or not that ego of yours allows for that possibility. I did this. I fucking did this, I chose this, so if you have to blame someone, blame me. I let me down, okay? I let YOU down."

She swallowed, her grip on Jessica's arm loosening, and her thumb actually rubbed a little at Jessica's skin.

"You saved me, Jess. You always do. So whatever blame you have to put, don't put it on yourself, okay? It wasn't your fault."

Jessica could see, looking at Trish, that the girl was not going to let this go, was not going to release her grasp on her, until she could see some kind of acknowledgement from her. Her chest still tight, her eyes burning, Jessica nodded abruptly, forcing the words she knew Trish was waiting for past her lips.

"Okay. Okay, Trish."

It was hard to say that much; it was harder still to consider that Trish's view might have some validity.

Trish's lips flickered into something resembling a smile, though as she let herself sag back against the hospital bed, her features were too exhausted to really show any further expression. She seemed to have summoned all of her strength just in that brief exchange. She didn't fully let go of Jessica; instead, she just slid her hand down her arm, somewhat awkwardly cupping the other girl's hand in her fingers.

"I love you, Jess," she said quietly, her eyes hooded, almost closing.

Jessica felt tears press even harder against her eyes, threatening to overflow, in spite of her best efforts to keep back. She bit down savagely at the inside of her cheeks, welcoming the distracting pain, and didn't answer until Trish's eyes were nearly closed.

"Just…just get yourself right, Trish, okay? Rehab…therapy…whatever, whatever you have to do. Just get yourself right."

She registered Trish's faint nod with some relief as the girl's eyes fought and lost the battle of staying open. As Trish drifted off, her hand still loosely clasped over Jessica's, Jessica didn't move, fearing she would disturb her if she pulled away.


	3. Moving out

3\. Moving out 

“So…we are gonna actually go inside the place at any point, or did you decide you’d rather set up house in the parking lot?” 

Trish Walker jumped slightly at Jessica’s sarcastic question, her head turning towards her in the passenger seat. She seemed to have nearly forgotten the other girl’s presence beside her in the vehicle. Releasing an audible breath, she deliberately released her grip on the steering wheel, lowering her hands to her thighs. 

“Of course we are. I’m just…savoring the moment.”

“More like freaking out and endlessly replaying Dorothy’s greatest hits of all guilt trip speeches in your head,” Jessica asserted, arching a dark eyebrow. “Holding onto the steering wheel hard enough to make your knuckles white when you stopped driving five minutes ago usually isn’t something you do when you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I’m enjoying myself,” Trish protested, but her words lacked full conviction. “This is my dream, Jess, you know that. All I’ve wanted all my life is to get away from my mother, start living my own life, my own way, without anyone doing anything for me or making me do anything for them. Not to owe anything to anyone. I’m happy, of course I’m happy.”

“And yet you aren’t smiling,” Jessica noted. “Not convincing when your face looks darker than mine.”

Trish narrowed her eyes at her, opening her mouth to give a retort, but Jessica didn’t let her finish.

“All the shit she said, Trish, about you moving out? About how you’re not smart or mature enough to live on your own, how you’re too young and childish and crazy to ever be able to even pretend to live like an adult-“

“Hey, I was there, I heard it the first time,” Trish interrupted, holding up a hand. “You don’t have to remind me all over again.”

“And how she was saying that everything you are and everything you’ve done is because of her, how you would be nothing without her? How she said you fail every time you make a decision without her, and how you’re making the biggest, stupidest decision of your life to be emancipated at sixteen, and everyone is going to laugh at you when you fail again?” Jessica said deliberately, her eyes on Trish’s face, taking in how she flinched at each word. “Everything she said, you remember that?”

She paused, making sure she had her attention, before she said forcefully, “Good. Don’t ever forget it, because it was all a fucking lie, Trish. She said everything she could to make you stay, to keep you where she can control you and make money off using you, just like she’s always done before. She did what she could and she failed, not you. You’re the one who had the balls to go to rehab and get yourself straight. You’re the one who had the courage to get a lawyer and get a judge to listen to you enough to see who Dorothy Walker really is. You’re the one who rented your own damn apartment and moved out, without one bit of help from Dorothy along the way. You did it, Trish. You.”

Trish smiled slightly, but Jessica could see her sitting up straighter in her seat, her chin lifting up. “You did most of the packing and moving part.”

“Well, yeah,” Jessica acknowledged, rolling her eyes. “You might have courage and bravado and all, but your scrawny little muscles can’t lift shit.”

Trish swatted at her, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling more fully, and Jessica saw her hand move to unlock the car’s door. As she stepped out into the parking lot of their new, shared apartment, with Jessica following moments after, Trish stretched her arms over her head, popping her back, her smile broadening even further. 

“You’re right, Jess. I did this. WE did this, and we’re damn well going to enjoy it.”

“Hold on, don’t amp up the pep much more than that,” Jessica joked, her own lips quirking slightly. “I don’t know if I can take too much cheer in closed quarters.”

Trish rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling, and when she stepped towards Jessica, holding out an arm, Jessica didn’t protest the other girl pulling her into a hug. She didn’t entirely return it, but she did keep her body relaxed against hers. 

“You know there’s not anyone else who could have got me to do this, right?” Trish said quietly, close to Jessica’s ear. “And there’s not anyone else I could ever do this with. I know you’re right. This is going to work out.”

She let her go, giving her one last, smaller smile, more serious in expression as she spoke. 

“I love you, Jess.” 

She turned to unlock the trunk of the car, knowing, by then, that Jessica would not respond, and not waiting in expectation for her to. She was right; Jessica was silent, not giving her response. But as she followed after her, she was trying not to smile.


	4. After Kilgrave

4\. After Kilgrave

Jessica didn’t know where she was going. All she knew was that she had to keep walking, stumbling, really, one foot in front of the other, eyes focused forward on a road she couldn’t really see through her blurred vision. Everything around her seemed unreal, distorted, like the stretched out images reflecting back from a funhouse mirror. The streetlights seemed too bright, almost blinding, in the darkened city streets, and she squinted, shielding her view with one shaking hand as she walked on. 

She could still hear Kilgrave’s voice ringing in her ears, calling to her sharply, voicing her name, commanding her as he had done so continuously for the past six months. Telling her to come back to him, his voice raising up into a shout that carried none of the self-satisfied amusement she was so accustomed to from him. Kilgrave, once more attempting to bend her actions to his will.

But she didn’t have to obey. Not anymore. She could keep walking, she had to keep walking, if nothing else, to stop him from using her body to kill again.

An image of the dark-skinned woman’s face flashed through her mind, eyes wide with shock and pain as Jessica’s hands crushed in her chest, as she flew backward, helpless, through the air. She couldn’t stop herself from hearing the horrible crunching noise of the woman’s body being destroyed by the vehicle running over it, sounds more terrible than any last words of anguish or accusation could have been. 

She had done that to her. She had used her hands against another human being, a woman she didn’t even know, a woman who posed her and no one else around her no harm. She had hit her hard enough to break her, even before thousands of pounds of steel finished off the job.

She had murdered someone. Kilgrave had used her to murder someone, and she could never undo it now. 

How ironic it was that it was only through this atrocity that she had, however momentarily, managed to gain the strength to free herself, to shake his control of her thoughts and actions at last. She had no way of knowing how long it would last, or how quickly he might catch up with her, and so she continued forward, head down, her breath coming in near pants with each step. 

She didn’t want to go to Trish. How could she, after what she had done? How could she, after six months of no contact, no explanations of where she had gone and what she was doing? How could she explain to Trish the stilted phone calls before the six months of silence, how she had been unable to move away from Kilgrave to speak to her about what was really going on? How could she make her feel his hot breath against her neck, the sick twisting in her gut as he murmured, line by line, the exact words that he wanted her to say? 

She knew Trish had felt confused and even somewhat hurt by the abruptness of her disappearance, by the briefness of the phone calls and Jessica’s refusal to tell her where she was. She knew that the six months without any calls at all must have frightened Trish for her safety. For all she knew, the woman had reported her as a missing person and hired a private detective to track her down- she wouldn’t put it past her. How could she go to her now, after all the hurt she had caused her, and hurt her that much more, by explaining the truth? How could she tell Trish she had disappeared by force- that everything she had done and said now for the past year had been forced on her by a sociopathic mutant who had someone managed to fall in love with her?

She couldn’t. She couldn’t have found the ability to say the words even if she wanted to, and it was the last thing she wanted. Jessica had nowhere to go anymore, no one to go to, and so she found herself gravitating to the one place that always seemed to draw in those with nothing- a dark, seedy-looking street corner bar, open sign dimly lit and calling out its welcome.

 

Drinking, like walking, was all about the action rather than some sort of conclusion. Jessica’s only focus in that bar was to get herself as drunk as she could, as fast as she could- so that maybe then, for a few seconds, at least, she could somehow let herself believe that the newest nightmare of her life was only that- a simple dream, gone as soon as she opened her eyes. 

She lost count of shots, lost control of her thoughts and even, apparently, her own body. Because somehow, hours after the bar closed and she was unceremoniously pushed out the door and onto the sidewalk once more, Jessica found herself standing outside of Trish’s apartment, staring at the seemingly dancing numbers on its door. Like a dumb and mute animal, she had miraculously, instinctively, and against her own intentions, found herself migrating back to the last place she had thought of as home. 

She didn’t knock or ring the doorbell. She didn’t even speak. Instead, she found herself lying down in an ungainly heap in the hallway, her head pressed up against the door at an awkward angle as she fell into something in between unconsciousness and sleep.

 

“Jessica? JESSICA?”

At the third, increasingly louder calling of her name, Jessica’s body twitched, one leg kicking out and one arm punching up. She heard a stunned gasp, and her name was called again more breathlessly as someone jumped back from her, barely missing being struck. Jessica’s head jerked up as she squinted towards the owner of the somewhat frantic voice above her. Even with her eyes barely open and the needle-like stabbing beginnings of a migraine pricking at her temples, she recognized Trish’s face, coming closer to her own as she knelt, bending down over her. 

“Jessica, what the hell?! What are you doing here? Are you okay, are you hurt? Wait, don’t get up if you’re hurt…”

 

Jessica was still trying to process her whereabouts, to puzzle through how she had managed to find herself face to face with the one person she had been trying to force herself to avoid. She flinched away from Trish’s reaching hands. She couldn’t have stood her touch- not for her own sake, but for Trish’s. How could she let Trish touch her, after what had happened to the last woman Jessica touched?

She barely noticed how the other girl sucked in a sharp breath, seeming to come to fast conclusions from Jessica’s avoiding her touch, in combination with her disheveled clothes and appearance. 

“Jessica…did someone hurt you? You know what I mean…did someone…”

Cluing in after a few delayed seconds of confusion what Trish was driving at, Jessica shook her head sharply, wincing again at the vertigo this caused. Even as she spoke, visions of Kilgrave’s bare skin against hers, his arms tight around her, flashed through her thoughts, and her answer was agitated, almost yelling. 

“No! No, no one…no one did anything, I’m not hurt. I’m okay, Trish, all right, I’m okay.”

She tried to sit up all the way, to show in her posture and movements the kind of dignity she was trying to convey in her words. But each movement was jerky and uncoordinated, and she couldn’t seem to figure out how to stand once she was sitting up. She knew Trish was watching her, and her face heated not with embarrassment or anger, but shame. Why the hell was she here, forcing Trish to be involved in the danger and angst that her life had become? What the hell was wrong with her for going to her? 

“You don’t look okay, Jessica,” Trish said bluntly, her voice slightly calmer than before, but not by much. “You look like shit. God, Jessica, you’re completely plastered. You can’t even stand up, can you? How long have you been out here in the hall like this? Did you pass out, or were you just too drunk to remember to call or knock?”

 

“I’m not drunk,” Jessica attempted, but the words sounded weak and unconvincing even to her own ears. “Back off me, all right?”

“Stop it,” Trish hissed, shaking her head, and Jessica’s heart squeezed at the anger and disgust in her tone. “Just stop it, Jessica. I think you lied to me enough over the past year to keep going with it now.”

Reaching out with surprising strength, she took hold of Jessica under both arms, hauling her to her feet. Jessica wasn’t much help in supporting herself, her head lolling to one side as she let herself be dragged up, knowing in spite of her reservations of Trish touching her that the woman wouldn’t stop until she consented to it. It was the first time in a year that someone had touched her of her own consent, and she chuckled to herself darkly as she realized that ironically, the touch of the only person left on this earth who truly cared about her was currently rougher than Kilgrave’s had ever been- and yet much more welcome. 

 

“Come on,” Trish muttered, more to herself than to Jessica as she struggled with her. “You can’t be out in the hall like this, for god’s sake, anything could have happened to you….I don’t care if you are a superhero, it doesn’t make you invincible, you know.”

Managing to get Jessica through the door, she shut it behind her with a bump of her hip, then locked it behind her. As though that would ever keep a man like Kilgrave out, if he decided he wanted in. Depositing Jessica onto the couch, Trish remained standing a few feet away from her, one hand moving to her hip in unconscious defensive posture as she turned her full attention back towards her, her expression nothing less than a glare. 

“Okay, Jessica, come out with it. Where the hell have you been?”

Jessica let her hand rise up and then fall back limply against her thigh, giving another humorless laugh, even as she avoided meeting Trish’s gaze.

“In the hallway….didn’t you just see?”

She heard Trish actually make a noise sounding remarkably close to a growl deep in her throat before she took another step towards her, leaning in towards her face and lowering her voice intently.

“This is not fucking funny, Jessica. Do you have any idea how worried I was about you? Do you have any idea what I thought could have happened, how scared I was that I would never see you again? Didn’t you realize I would think that someone had hurt or killed you, or that you had done something to yourself, stumbled into something stupid and dangerous that you couldn’t get away from? Didn’t you care what I would think, Jessica? Did you take one second to think about something or someone other than you and your stupid impulsive fight or flight bullshit?”

Trish was speaking so rapidly by then that Jessica could barely have understood her sober; intoxicated and exhausted, both emotionally and physically, she didn’t even try. She just let the words pummel her, her head dipping low under the force of Trish’s anger. 

“First you just take off and won’t tell me what you’re doing or where you are, you won’t let me come see you or even Skype with you, then I don’t even get a phone call or text or email for six months, Jessica, six months! You just go off like you can cut ties with your life any time you want to and it won’t affect anyone but you. And all for what, so you can go party it up, get plastered without having to hear about it from anyone who actually cares what you’re doing to yourself and where you’re going with your life? So you can end up passed out in my hallway, too wasted to even hear anyone call your name? What the hell, Jessica, what the hell is wrong with you?”

She punctuated her last few words by grabbing Jessica’s shoulders, giving her a brief but brisk shaking. Jessica stiffened again, bracing herself for a blow that she felt she deserved. But Trish didn’t hit her. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her, pulling her closer to her in a fierce embrace. 

“Didn’t you think I would care, Jessica?” she whispered, her voice softer, choked with feeling as she kept the other woman tight against her. “Didn’t you think I would miss you?”

Jessica’s muscles remained tensed, protesting her hug. She couldn’t let Trish talk to her like this, hold her like this. She couldn’t let her care. She didn’t deserve her caring, the last thing Trish needed in her life was to give a damn about Jessica fucking Jones, not now. Not ever. 

But when she tried to pull away, Trish hung on, only tightening her embrace, even as she continued to mutter questions about what the hell Jessica had been thinking, where the hell she had been. And when Jessica tried to find the words to tell her to stop, to let her go, to go away from her, all that came from her mouth was a harsh, broken sob that quickly dissolved into heavy tears, emerging so hard and fast she didn’t even realize they were a threat before they became impossible for her to stop. 

Her head feeling impossibly heavy to continue holding up on her own, Jessica let it bow forward to rest on Trish’s shoulder, her body nearly convulsing with the force of her crying. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t summon the energy to pull away. She could just barely hear Trish’s astonished, anxious voice, could just make out the sensation of her hands running over her back and through her hair as the other woman tried to calm her. 

“Jessica? Jessica, what happened? Jessica….I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? Please, just tell me that you’re okay. Jessica?”

She couldn’t answer her, not then. She couldn’t gain enough control of herself to sit up, let alone to coordinate all the muscles needed to speak or move. Jessica just wept, feeling her body melt against her adoptive sister as though it were dissolving in sympathy of her tears. 

She never knew how long it was that she cried in Trish’s arms, with Trish’s efforts at soothing caresses and words running off her back, unable to sink in deep. She never knew how Trish managed somehow to get her to her feet and into her own bedroom. She only knew that at some point she found herself lying down under clean sheets, her head throbbing with pain, sinuses clogged as Trish lay down behind her, one arm circling her waist in a loose continued embrace. 

“It’s going to be okay,” she heard Trish whisper to her. “No matter what, you’re back, you’re safe, and it’s going to be okay. I love you, Jess.”

 

She didn’t answer her, her throat too raw to even begin to conjure speech. But those were the last words lingering in her brain as she closed her eyes.


	5. Interference

5\. Interference  
“This isn’t right, Jessica. You can’t go on like this. You can’t keep living like this.”

Trish shook her head, her blue eyes wide as they continued to slowly rove around the darkened apartment’s interior. For a girl who had witnessed a lot of craziness from a lot of crazy people, both of supernatural variety and the regular, comparatively boring Hollywood decadent types, she was pretty incredulous, Jessica thought, over a sight that she should be used to by now. What was a little sloppiness and a girl who had kicked back a few beers or ten, compared to a girl who could bend steel and a fifty year old producer offering coke to a fifteen year old? 

“Obviously, I am living like this,” Jessica deadpanned, taking another swallow from the dark bottle in her hand and enduring, if not exactly enjoying, the bitter warmth moving down her throat and into her chest. “Watch.” She took a long, exaggerated breath in, then exhaled out noisily through her mouth. “Breathing.” She covered her heart with her free hand, tapping her chest in time with its quickened pulse. “Beating. Last I checked, means I’m alive.”

“Don’t play with words with me,” Trish said tightly, still shaking her head. She raked a hand through her hair, leaving her fingers grasping at the strands as she flung out her other arm, gesturing in a broad circle around herself. “Jessica, don’t you see this? Don’t you care?”

“No,” Jessica said flatly. She was being truthful. There wasn’t much reason to care about the state of her apartment when she barely spent any time in it, and when what time she was present in it was spent either drunk or unconscious. 

“It smells in here, Jessica,” Trish informed her, her perky nose wrinkling up, as though saying the words out loud made the odor even worse. “It smells like you haven’t washed any clothes or dishes or floors or basically anything since you moved in. The garbage pile looks like it’s becoming homemade compost, there is no food in your fridge or in your cabinets unless you want to count ketchup, pickles, and beer, and your toilet and bathtub look like a truck stop’s. There is mold growing by the kitchen sink, and you STILL haven’t fixed that damn door!”

She pointed to Jessica’s still broken door, nodding her head at Jessica’s half-assed effort of taping it up with cardboard. “I don’t know what the hell anyone might want to steal in this dump, but someone could punch through that and slit your throat in your sleep, don’t you realize that?”

“Might be nice,” Jessica muttered, barely raising an eyebrow. She took another long swallow, then leaned back tiredly against one arm of her sagging couch, putting her feet across the other cushion. “I probably wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“And you!” Trish went on, either not hearing her comment or choosing to ignore it. She pointed directly at Jessica, taking a step towards her. “Jessica, you look like you’ve slept in those clothes. Twice. You haven’t washed your hair in at least a few days, I can tell looking. You look exhausted, so you can’t have been sleeping, and you look white enough to be sick, so you can’t be eating either. But obviously,” and she swept her arm towards the bottles littered around the coffee table and behind the couch,” obviously, you’ve been drinking.”

She took a deep breath, then softened her voice, taking another step towards her and sitting with extreme caution on the edge of the coffee table, close enough to Jessica on the couch to be able to almost brush her with her knees. Too close for Jessica’s comfort at the moment. 

“Jessica…please, you have to stop all of this. You have to.”

Jessica swallowed, feeling her heart thump still faster at her words, but more so at the clear concern in the other woman’s eyes. She tried to think of something to say, something that would acknowledge Trish’s caring while also getting her to step back, but alcohol clouded every thought and feeling but anger.

“Get the hell off my back, Trish. It’s not like I’m some big hero anymore, or like I ever was anyway, so what the fuck do you expect from me?”

“You were a hero, Jessica,” Trish said forcefully. She didn’t touch her, but her voice was intent enough and her presence close enough that Jessica almost felt her like a touch. “You were, no matter how things turned out. And you can be again.”

“No, I can’t,” Jessica snapped. She finished the last of the bottle with a long pull and then let it drop out her hand, ignoring Trish’s flinch when the glass hit against the other discarded bottles. “I fucked that up a long time ago. So get your nose out of my business and let me go about my day, and I’ll leave you to go about yours.”

She tried to turn herself away, out of Trish’s full view. But Trish was not the kind of girl who easily let things go, once she had her mind set on something.

“Your business is my business, Jessica,” she said quietly but firmly, with just enough feeling to make Jessica heart squeeze uncomfortably. “You’re my best friend, Jess. You’re my sister, and not just because of Dorothy’s publicity stunt. I can’t sit back and watch you do this. I can’t let you destroy yourself, just because Kilgrave didn’t finish you off first.”

Hearing his name out loud make the muscles of Jessica’s jaw tense up, just as she knew that Trish had known it would. She could never disguise a physical response of some kind when he was spoken of. Even intoxicated, it was impossible to prevent herself from showing the fear, disgust, and hatred she felt for the man who had been her captor, her puppeteer, her rapist for so long. The man who had made her into the weak, pathetic shell of herself that she had become. The man who had made her a murderer.

“Why?” she said tightly, narrowing her eyes towards Trish but not quite looking at her straight on. “You think it’s your duty to help the unfortunate, float down charity towards the less fortunate and the crazy misfits like me? You been played up as sweet and generous by everyone for so long that you think you gotta live up to it in private too? You don’t owe me anything, Trish. You’ve done all you should do for me and more, you got it? I release you. You can officially throw up yours hands now and walk away, I give you my express permission to walk away and still think of yourself as a good person.”

She expected Trish to argue or defend herself, or even to walk off in a huff. But Trish just stared at her. If anything, she leaned in closer as she spoke slowly, deliberately.

“Stop trying so hard, Jessica. You’re insulting yourself right now more than you’re insulting me.”

As Jessica frowned, confused, attempting to work out what Trish meant, Trish continued. 

“I don’t care what you say to me right now, Jessica. I don’t care what you do or how hard you try to push me away, or how much you think you want me to leave you alone. I don’t care what you think you deserve or what you think I deserve. It doesn’t matter, and none of it will work on me. Don’t you get that by now? It won’t work, Jessica. So stop exhausting yourself trying, because it. Won’t. Work. Not on me.”

As this sunk in, Jessica could hear herself sucking in a sharp breath. Her chest felt tight and strained with a feeling too big and pained to give words to. She didn’t plan her next words, and they came out in a voice so small and soft she could barely recognize her own voice.

“Stop. Just…stop, Trish. Leave it. Just leave it be.”

 

“Would you leave me?” Trish asked her in return. She didn’t speak harshly, but neither did she give Jessica relief from the constant focus of her gaze. 

“I did leave you,” Jessica bit back, forcing hardness back into her tone, into her expression, as she straightened her shoulders and lifted up her chin. “For a year. Remember?”

“Yes,” Trish returned levelly, unshaken. “Yes, I do. And I remember why. That wasn’t your choice, Jessica, and we both know that. If this was me, right now, living in what you live in, doing to myself what you do to yourself…would you just let it go?”

Jessica’s lips pressed together hard as she fought not to show her response. She knew damn well how she’d feel about Trish living in her shoes. But that was Trish, not her. Trish was…Trish was Trish. She was too good for Jessica’s life, she always had been. Why couldn’t she seem to get that the two of them were different? 

“You know that you wouldn’t,” Trish answered for her, when Jessica would not reply. “You know that, Jessica. You would never let me hurt myself or put myself in danger. You never have, no matter how much I told you to leave me be. And I won’t let you.”

Reaching out, she grasped hold of Jessica’s chin, turning her face towards her with gentle fingers. Jessica wanted to close her eyes, to do whatever it took to avoid Trish seeing deep enough in her to know her feelings or thoughts, but even she had just enough pride left to make herself look back at her. 

“I love you, Jessica,” Trish told her, the words measured, deliberate, but no less lacking feeling. “I love you so damn much, too damn much to let you live like this anymore. Too much to let you punish yourself for what was not your fault.”

Letting go of Jessica’s chin, she leaned in, wrapping both arms around her and pulling Jessica forward, so the other woman had no choice but to be drawn in against Trish’s chest. When Jessica remained stiff, not letting herself mold more naturally against her, Trish held on, not letting Jessica’s silence or standoffish posture deter her from the love she was insisting on showing. 

“It was not your fault,” Trish was repeating quietly, close to Jessica’s ear, as Jessica tried to focus on breathing, to push away every other instinct her body fought to give in to- but above all, to push away tears. “It was not your fault, Jessica, and I won’t ever let you forget that. I’m here for you, and I’m going to keep reminding you that. No matter how much you run or push or bite back at me, no matter how much you tell yourself that you aren’t worth it, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jessica knew that Trish meant her words. She could hear her sincerity in her voice, feel it in the warm comfort of her embrace. She knew that even if Trish grew frustrated with her, even if she couldn’t understand or disapproved of her behavior and choices, she would never give up on her, and she would never walk away. 

So why did that hurt so damn much for her to know?


	6. Jessica's turn

6\. Jessica’s Turn

It took fourteen years of knowing Patricia Walker for Jessica to tell her that she loved her, and then, it was prompted in response to Kilgrave’s command.

Of course, Kilgrave hadn’t been asking her to say it to Trish, but rather, to him, as a test to prove his regaining control of Jessica’s mind and heart. In those final few moments of his life that night on the docks, Jessica had fought hard to keep her body loose and relaxed, an easy smile curving her lips, to force out of her gaze any of her true feelings of her fear and anxiety for Trish and the dozens of other innocents on the docks. She knew that if Kilgrave didn’t buy her act, every one of them could be killed- Trish included. And if Trish was not killed, she may very well end up in the same position that Jessica had found herself in, years before- Kilgrave’s prisoner, Kilgrave’s forced lover, with Jessica helpless to protect her even from herself. 

 

She knew, and so when Kilgrave commanded her to speak of her love for him, Jessica’s eyes moved just past him for a fraction of a second, connecting not with the face of her nemesis, but with that of her sister, her friend, the one steady thread in the tangled knot of her existence. She allowed herself one moment to summon up truth and feeling in her words, letting in that moment all the emotion she felt for Trish Walker but had never, ever allowed herself to voice out loud, to come out then- even as she let her eyes slide back to Kilgrave as she spoke. 

“I love you.”

It was enough to convince him, enough to bring him close enough for her to end his life at last. After all, there was no reason not to believe the genuineness of her words. The only catch was that they had been aimed not at Kilgrave, but at Trish, just behind him. 

 

A person might have thought that having said the words once, they would come easily from then on, that any threats or fears attached to them would have disappeared. But when Trish first came to meet her after Jessica’s release from prison, for the first several minutes, no words exchanged between them at all. Trish, as always, took the first steps forward, her arms enveloping Jessica as they had so many times before. But this time was different. This time, after several moments, Jessica felt her arms come up, almost on their own accord, as she slowly let herself hug Trish back. 

Still, hugs or not, words of love didn’t leave her lips. Not then. 

It was almost a week later, after Jessica had slept for something close to four days, without getting up to do much more than stumble back and forth from the bathroom and bedroom. It was one of her first days spent mostly awake, and even so, she had spent most of it just sitting up with Trish in her apartment. The apartment, she had finally noticed around day five, that had clearly been cleaned up and repaired some time during her near comatose state, most likely with Trish’s money and direction. 

She was finally beginning to feel somewhat like a living person again, like there was indeed some kind of future there for her, although she couldn’t begin to imagine what it might be. True, she was still healing physically and emotionally, and nightmares still came more often than not in sleep, but at the very least, Jessica was pretty sure she felt human instead of like some sort of reject out of the Walking Dead.

They were sitting together in not uncomfortable quiet, some stupid comedy Trish kept chuckling at on the TV, when the words came at last, thick and awkward on Jessica’s tongue. 

“I was talking to you, you know.”

Trish turned towards her, one blonde eyebrow raised.

“Come again?”

Jessica exhaled, the words slower in coming then before, but still audible, still able to emerge.

“What I said to Kilgrave, that night. On the dock. When I said what he asked me to. I said it because he asked, but when I said it, I was looking at you.”

 

She saw the light dawn in Trish’s eyes, the way she started to smile. But although her head was more fully turned towards her, her posture lighter, somehow, Trish didn’t reply, not then. Instead she waited, letting Jessica finish what she needed, at last, to say. 

“I love you,” Jessica managed, and the words felt lighter, easier, than she ever would have imagined. “I love you, Trish. I always have.”

As Trish slipped an arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss to Jessica’s head in her own nonverbal reply, Jessica let out a final breath, letting her head slowly fall against her sister’s shoulder. Letting herself, at last, come to rest. 

The end


End file.
